The black slaves who attended Front-de-Boeuf were attired in jerkins and trousers of coarse linen, their sleeves being tucked up above the elbow, like those of butchers when about to exercise their functions in the slaughter-house. Each had in his hand a small [v]pannier; and when they entered the dungeon, they paused at the door until Front-de-Boeuf himself carefully locked and double-locked it. Having taken this precaution, he advanced slowly up the apartment toward the Jew, upon whom he kept his eye fixed as if he wished to paralyze him with his glance, as some animals are said to fascinate their prey.

The Jew sat with his mouth agape and his eyes fixed on the savage baron with such earnestness of terror that his frame seemed literally to shrink together and diminish in size while encountering the fierce Norman's fixed and baleful gaze. The unhappy Isaac was deprived not only of the power of rising to make the [v]obeisance which his fear had dictated, but he could not even doff his cap or utter any word of supplication, so strongly was he agitated by the conviction that tortures and death were impending over him.

On the other hand, the stately form of the Norman appeared to dilate in magnitude, like that of the eagle, which ruffles up its plumage when about to pounce on its defenseless prey. He paused within three steps of the corner in which the unfortunate Hebrew had now, as it were, coiled himself up into the smallest possible space, and made a sign for one of the slaves to approach. The black [v]satellite came forward accordingly, and producing from his basket a large pair of scales and several weights, he laid them at the feet of Front-de-Boeuf and retired to the respectful distance at which his companion had already taken his station.

The motions of these men were slow and solemn, as if there impended over their souls some [v]preconception of horror and cruelty. Front-de-Boeuf himself opened the scene by addressing his ill-fated captive.

"Most accursed dog," he said, awakening with his deep and sullen voice the echoes of the dungeon vault, "seest thou these scales?"

The unhappy Jew returned a feeble affirmative.

"In these very scales shalt thou weigh me out," said the relentless baron, "a thousand silver pounds, after the just measure and weight of the Tower of London."

"Holy Abraham!" returned the Jew, finding voice through the very extremity of his danger; "heard man ever such a demand? Who ever heard, even in a minstrel's tale, of such a sum as a thousand pounds of silver? What human eyes were ever blessed with the sight of so great a mass of treasure? Not within the walls of York, ransack my house and that of all my tribe, wilt thou find the [v]tithe of that huge sum of silver that thou speakest of."

"I am reasonable," answered Front-de-Boeuf, "and if silver be scant, I refuse not gold. At the rate of a mark of gold for each six pounds of silver, thou shalt free thy unbelieving carcass from such punishment as thy heart has never even conceived in thy wildest imaginings."

"Have mercy on me, noble knight!" pleaded Isaac. "I am old, and poor, and helpless. It were unworthy to triumph over me. It is a poor deed to crush a worm."

"Old thou mayst be," replied the knight, "and feeble thou mayst be; but rich it is known thou art."

"I swear to you, noble knight," said Isaac, "by all which I believe and all which we believe in common—"

"Perjure not thyself," interrupted the Norman, "and let not thy obstinacy seal thy doom, until thou hast seen and well considered the fate that awaits thee. This prison is no place for trifling. Prisoners ten thousand times more distinguished than thou have died within these walls, and their fate has never been known. But for thee is reserved a long and lingering death, to which theirs was luxury."

He again made a signal for the slaves to approach and spoke to them apart in their own language; for he had been a crusader in Palestine, where, perhaps, he had learned his lesson of cruelty. The Saracens produced from their baskets a quantity of charcoal, a pair of bellows, and a flask of oil. While the one struck a light with a flint and steel, the other disposed the charcoal in the large rusty grate which we have already mentioned and exercised the bellows until the fuel came to a red glow.

"Seest thou, Isaac," said Front-de-Boeuf, "the range of iron bars above that glowing charcoal? On that warm couch thou shalt lie, stripped of thy clothes as if thou wert to rest on a bed of down. One of these slaves shall maintain the fire beneath thee, while the other shall anoint thy wretched limbs with oil, lest the roast should burn. Now choose betwixt such a scorching bed and the payment of a thousand pounds of silver; for, by the head of my father, thou hast no other [v]option."

"It is impossible," exclaimed the miserable Isaac; "it is impossible that your purpose can be real! The good God of nature never made a heart capable of exercising such cruelty!"

"Trust not to that, Isaac," said Front-de-Boeuf; "it were a fatal error. Dost thou think that I who have seen a town sacked, in which thousands perished by sword, by flood, and by fire, will blench from my purpose for the outcries of a single wretch? Be wise, old man; discharge thyself of a portion of thy superfluous wealth; repay to the hands of a Christian a part of what thou hast acquired by [v]usury. Thy cunning may soon swell out once more thy shriveled purse, but neither leech nor medicine can restore thy scorched hide and flesh wert thou once stretched on these bars. Tell down thy [v]ransom, I say, and rejoice that at such a rate thou canst redeem thyself from a dungeon, the secrets of which few have returned to tell. I waste no more words with thee. Choose between thy [v]dross and thy flesh and blood, and as thou choosest so shall it be."

"So may Abraham and all the fathers of our people assist me!" said Isaac; "I cannot make the choice because I have not the means of satisfying your [v]exorbitant demand!"

"Seize him and strip him, slaves," said the knight.

The assistants, taking their directions more from the baron's eye and hand than his tongue, once more stepped forward, laid hands on the unfortunate Isaac, plucked him up from the ground, and holding him between them, waited the hard-hearted baron's further signal. The unhappy man eyed their countenances and that of Front-de-Boeuf in the hope of discovering some symptoms of softening; but that of the baron showed the same cold, half-sullen, half-sarcastic smile, which had been the prelude to his cruelty; and the savage eyes of the Saracens, rolling gloomily under their dark brows, evinced rather the secret pleasure which they expected from the approaching scene than any reluctance to be its agents. The Jew then looked at the glowing furnace, over which he was presently to be stretched, and, seeing no chance of his tormentor's relenting, his resolution gave way.

"I will pay," he said, "the thousand pounds of silver—that is, I will pay it with the help of my brethren, for I must beg as a mendicant at the door of our synagogue ere I make up so unheard-of a sum. When and where must it be delivered?" he inquired with a sigh.

"Here," replied Front-de-Boeuf. "Weighed it must be—weighed and told down on this very dungeon floor. Thinkest thou I will part with thee until thy ransom is secure?"

"Then let my daughter Rebecca go forth to York," said Isaac, "with your safe conduct, noble knight, and so soon as man and horse can return, the treasure—" Here he groaned deeply, but added, after the pause of a few seconds,—"the treasure shall be told down on this floor."

"Thy daughter!" said Front-de-Boeuf, as if surprised. "By Heavens, Isaac, I would I had known of this! I gave yonder black-browed girl to Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, to be his prisoner. She is not in my power."

The yell which Isaac raised at this unfeeling communication made the very vault to ring, and astounded the two Saracens so much that they let go their hold of the victim. He availed himself of his freedom to throw himself on the pavement and clasp the knees of Front-de-Boeuf.

"Take all that you have asked," said he—"take ten times more—reduce me to ruin and to beggary, if thou wilt—nay, pierce me with thy poniard, broil me on that furnace, but spare my daughter! Will you deprive me of my sole remaining comfort in life?"

"I would," said the Norman, somewhat relenting, "that I had known of this before. I thought you loved nothing but your money-bags."

"Think not so vilely of me," returned Isaac, eager to improve the moment of apparent sympathy. "I love mine own, even as the hunted fox, the tortured wildcat loves its young."

"Be it so," said Front-de-Boeuf; "but it aids us not now. I cannot help what has happened or what is to follow. My word is passed to my comrade in arms that he shall have the maiden as his share of the spoil, and I would not break it for ten Jews and Jewesses to boot. Take thought instead to pay me the ransom thou hast promised, or woe betide thee!"

"Robber and villain!" cried the Jew, "I will pay thee nothing—not one silver penny will I pay thee unless my daughter is delivered to me in safety!"

"Art thou in thy senses, Israelite?" asked the Norman sternly. "Hast thy flesh and blood a charm against heated iron and scalding oil?"

"I care not!" replied the Jew, rendered desperate by paternal affection; "my daughter is my flesh and blood, dearer to me a thousand times than those limbs thy cruelty threatens. No silver will I give thee unless I were to pour it molten down thy [v]avaricious throat—no, not a silver penny will I give thee, [v]Nazarene, were it to save thee from the deep damnation thy whole life has merited. Take my life, if thou wilt, and say that the Jew, amidst his tortures, knew how to disappoint the Christian."

"We shall see that," said Front-de-Boeuf; "for by the blessed [v]rood thou shalt feel the extremities of fire and steel! Strip him, slaves, and chain him down upon the bars."

In spite of the feeble struggles of the old man, the Saracens had already torn from him his upper garment and were proceeding totally to disrobe him, when the sound of a bugle, twice winded without the castle, penetrated even to the recesses of the dungeon. Immediately after voices were heard calling for Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf. Unwilling to be found engaged in his hellish occupation, the savage baron gave the slaves a signal to restore Isaac's garment; and, quitting the dungeon with his attendants, he left the Jew to thank God for his own deliverance or to lament over his daughter's captivity, as his personal or parental feelings might prove the stronger.

III

When the bugle sounded, De Bracy was engaged in pressing his suit with the Saxon heiress Rowena, whom he had carried off under the impression that she would speedily surrender to his rough wooing. But he found her [v]obdurate as well as tearful and in no humor to listen to his professions of devotion. It was, therefore, with some relief that the free-lance heard the summons at the barbican. Going into the hall of the castle, De Bracy was presently joined by Bois-Guilbert.

"Where is Front-de-Boeuf!" the latter asked.

"He is [v]negotiating with the Jew, I suppose," replied De Bracy, coolly; "probably the howls of Isaac have drowned the blast of the bugle. But we will make the [v]vassals call him."

They were soon after joined by Front-de-Boeuf, who had only tarried to give some necessary directions.

"Let us see the cause of this cursed clamor," he said. "Here is a letter which has just been brought in, and, if I mistake not, it is in Saxon."

He looked at it, turning it round and round as if he had some hopes of coming at the meaning by inverting the position of the paper, and then handed it to De Bracy.

"It may be magic spells for aught I know," said De Bracy, who possessed his full proportion of the ignorance which characterized the chivalry of the period.

"Give it to me," said the Templar. "We have that of the priestly character that we have some knowledge to enlighten our valor."

"Let us profit by your most reverend knowledge, then," returned De Bracy. "What says the scroll?"

"It is a formal letter of defiance," answered Bois-Guilbert; "but, by our Lady of Bethlehem, if it be not a foolish jest, it is the most extraordinary [v]cartel that ever went across the drawbridge of a baronial castle."

"Jest!" exclaimed Front-de-Boeuf. "I would gladly know who dares jest with me in such a matter! Read it, Sir Brian."

The Templar accordingly read as follows:

"I, Wamba, the son of Witless, jester to a noble and free-born man, Cedric of Rotherwood, called the Saxon: and I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, the swineherd—"

"Thou art mad!" cried Front-de-Boeuf, interrupting the reader.

"By Saint Luke, it is so set down," answered the Templar. Then, resuming his task, he went on: "I, Gurth, the son of Beowulph, swineherd unto the said Cedric, with the assistance of our allies and confederates, who make common cause with us in this our feud, namely, the good knight, called for the present the Black Knight, and the stout yeoman, Robert Locksley, called Cleve-the-wand: Do you, Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, and your allies and accomplices whomsoever, to wit, that whereas you have, without cause given or feud declared, wrongfully and by mastery, seized upon the person of our lord and master, the said Cedric; also upon the person of a noble and free-born damsel, the Lady Rowena; also upon the person of a noble and free-born man, Athelstane of Coningsburgh; also upon the persons of certain free-born men, their vassals; also upon certain serfs, their born bondsmen; also upon a certain Jew, named Isaac of York, together with his daughter, and certain horses and mules: therefore, we require and demand that the said persons be within an hour after the delivery hereof delivered to us, untouched and unharmed in body and goods. Failing of which, we do pronounce to you that we hold ye as robbers and traitors and will wager our bodies against ye in battle and do our utmost to your destruction. Signed by us upon the eve of Saint Withold's day, under the great oak in the Hart-hill Walk, the above being written by a holy man, clerk to God and Saint Dunstan in the chapel of Copmanhurst."

The knights heard this uncommon document read from end to end and then gazed upon each other in silent amazement, as being utterly at a loss to know what it could portend. De Bracy was the first to break silence by an uncontrollable fit of laughter, wherein he was joined, though with more moderation, by the Templar. Front-de-Boeuf, on the contrary, seemed impatient of their ill-timed [v]jocularity.

"I give you plain warning," he said, "fair sirs, that you had better consult how to bear yourselves under these circumstances than to give way to such misplaced merriment."

"Front-de-Boeuf has not recovered his temper since his overthrow in the tournament," said De Bracy to the Templar. "He is cowed at the very idea of a cartel, though it be from a fool and a swineherd."

"I would thou couldst stand the whole brunt of this adventure thyself, De Bracy," answered Front-de-Boeuf. "These fellows dared not to have acted with such inconceivable impudence had they not been supported by some strong bands. There are enough outlaws in this forest to resent my protecting the deer. I did but tie one fellow, who was taken red-handed and in the fact, to the horns of a wild stag, which gored him to death in five minutes, and I had as many arrows shot at me as were launched in the tournament. Here, fellow," he added to one of his attendants, "hast thou sent out to see by what force this precious challenge is to be supported?"

"There are at least two hundred men assembled in the woods," answered a squire who was in attendance.

"Here is a proper matter!" said Front-de-Boeuf. "This comes of lending you the use of my castle. You cannot manage your undertaking quietly, but you must bring this nest of hornets about my ears!"

"Of hornets?" echoed De Bracy. "Of stingless drones rather—a band of lazy knaves who take to the wood and destroy the venison rather than labor for their maintenance."

"Stingless!" replied Front-de-Boeuf. "Fork-headed shafts of a cloth-yard in length, and these shot within the breadth of a French crown, are sting enough."

"For shame, sir knight!" said the Templar. "Let us summon our people and sally forth upon them. One knight—ay, one man-at-arms—were enough for twenty such peasants."

"Enough, and too much," agreed De Bracy. "I should be ashamed to couch lance against them."

"True," answered Front-de-Boeuf, drily, "were they black Turks or Moors, Sir Templar, or the craven peasants of France, most valiant De Bracy; but these are English yeomen, over whom we shall have no advantage save what we may derive from our arms and horses, which will avail us little in the glades of the forest. Sally, saidst thou? We have scarce men enough to defend the castle. The best of mine are at York; so is your band, De Bracy; and we have scarce twenty, besides the handful that were engaged in this mad business."

"Thou dost not fear," said the Templar, "that they can assemble in force sufficient to attempt the castle?"

"Not so, Sir Brian," answered Front-de-Boeuf. "These outlaws have indeed a daring captain; but without machines, scaling ladders, and experienced leaders my castle may defy them."

"Send to thy neighbors," suggested the Templar. "Let them assemble their people and come to the rescue of three knights, besieged by a jester and swineherd in the baronial castle of Reginald Front-de-Boeuf!"

"You jest, sir knight," answered the baron; "but to whom shall I send? My allies are at York, where I should have also been but for this infernal enterprise."

"Then send to York and recall our people," said De Bracy. "If these [v]churls abide the shaking of my standard, I will give them credit for the boldest outlaws that ever bent bow in greenwood."

"And who shall bear such a message?" said Front-de-Boeuf. "The knaves will beset every path and rip the errand out of the man's bosom. I have it," he added, after pausing for a moment. "Sir Templar, thou canst write as well as read, and if we can but find writing materials, thou shalt return an answer to this bold challenge."

Paper and pen were presently brought, and Bois-Guilbert sat down and wrote, in the French language, an epistle of the following tenor:

"Sir Reginald Front-de-Boeuf, with his noble and knightly allies and confederates, receives no defiances at the hands of slaves, bondsmen, or fugitives. If the person calling himself the Black Knight hath indeed a claim to the honors of chivalry, he ought to know that he stands degraded by his present association and has no right to ask reckoning at the hands of good men of noble blood. Touching the prisoners we have made, we do in Christian charity require you to send a man of religion to receive their confession and reconcile them with God; since it is our fixed intention to execute them this morning before noon, so that their heads, being placed on the battlements, shall show to all men how lightly we esteem those who have bestirred themselves in their rescue. Wherefore, as above, we require you to send a priest to reconcile them with God, in doing which you shall render them the last earthly service."

This letter, being folded, was delivered to the squire, and by him to the messenger who waited without, as the answer to that which he had brought.

IV

About one hour afterward a man arrayed in the cowl and frock of a hermit, and having his knotted cord twisted around his middle, stood before the portal of the castle of Front-de-Boeuf. The warder demanded of him his name and errand.

"[v]Pax vobiscum," answered the priest, "I am a poor brother of the [v]Order of St. Francis who come hither to do my office to certain unhappy prisoners now secured within this castle."

"Thou art a bold friar," said the warder, "to come hither, where, saving our own drunken confessor, a rooster of thy feather hath not crowed these twenty years."

With these words, he carried to the hall of the castle his unwonted intelligence that a friar stood before the gate and desired admission. With no small wonder he received his master's command to admit the holy man immediately; and, having previously manned the entrance to guard against surprise, he obeyed, without farther scruple, the order given him.

"Who and whence art thou, priest?" demanded Front-de-Boeuf.

"Pax vobiscum," reiterated the priest, with trembling voice. "I am a poor servant of Saint Francis, who, traveling through this wilderness, have fallen among thieves, which thieves have sent me unto this castle in order to do my ghostly office on two persons condemned by your honorable justice."

"Ay, right," answered Front-de-Boeuf; "and canst thou tell me, the number of those banditti?"

"Gallant sir," said the priest, "[v]nomen illis legio, their name is legion."

"Tell me in plain terms what numbers there are, or, priest, thy cloak and cord will ill protect thee from my wrath."

"Alas!" said the friar, "[v]cor meum eructavit, that is to say, I was like to burst with fear! But I conceive they may be—what of yeomen, what of commons—at least five hundred men."

"What!" said the Templar, who came into the hall that moment, "muster the wasps so thick here? It is time to stifle such a mischievous brood." Then taking Front-de-Boeuf aside, "Knowest thou the priest?"

"He is a stranger from a distant convent," replied Front-de-Boeuf; "I know him not."

"Then trust him not with our purpose in words," urged the Templar. "Let him carry a written order to De Bracy's company of Free Companions, to repair instantly to their master's aid. In the meantime, and that the shaveling may suspect nothing, permit him to go freely about his task of preparing the Saxon hogs for the slaughter-house."

"It shall be so," said Front-de-Boeuf. And he forthwith appointed a domestic to conduct the friar to the apartment where Cedric and Athelstane were confined.

The natural impatience of Cedric had been rather enhanced than diminished by his confinement. He walked from one end of the hall to the other, with the attitude of a man who advances to charge an enemy or storm the breach of a beleaguered place, sometimes ejaculating to himself and sometimes addressing Athelstane. The latter stoutly and [v]stoically awaited the issue of the adventure, digesting in the meantime, with great composure, the liberal meal which he had made at noon and not greatly troubling himself about the duration of the captivity.

"Pax vobiscum!" pronounced the priest, entering the apartment. "The blessing of Saint Dunstan, Saint Dennis, Saint Duthoc, and all other saints whatsoever, be upon ye and about ye."

"Enter freely," said Cedric to the friar; "with what intent art thou come hither?"

"To bid you prepare yourselves for death," was the reply.

"It is impossible!" said Cedric, starting. "Fearless and wicked as they are, they dare not attempt such open and [v]gratuitous cruelty!"

"Alas!" returned the priest, "to restrain them by their sense of humanity is the same as to stop a runaway horse with a bridle of silk thread. Bethink thee, therefore, Cedric, and you also, Athelstane, what crimes you have committed in the flesh, for this very day will ye be called to answer at a higher [v]tribunal."

"Hearest thou this, Athelstane?" said Cedric. "We must rouse up our hearts to this last action, since better it is we should die like men than live like slaves."

"I am ready," answered Athelstane, "to stand the worst of their malice, and shall walk to my death with as much composure as ever I did to my dinner."

"Let us, then, unto our holy [v]gear, father," said Cedric.

"Wait yet a moment, good [v]uncle," said the priest in a voice very different from his solemn tones of a moment before; "better look before you leap in the dark."

"By my faith!" cried Cedric; "I should know that voice."

"It is that of your trusty slave and jester," answered the priest, throwing back his cowl and revealing the face of Wamba. "Take a fool's advice, and you will not be here long."

"How meanest thou, knave?" demanded the Saxon.

"Even thus," replied Wamba; "take thou this frock and cord and march quietly out of the castle, leaving me your cloak and girdle to take the long leap in thy stead."

"Leave thee in my stead!" exclaimed Cedric, astonished at the proposal; "why, they would hang thee, my poor knave."

"E'en let them do as they are permitted," answered Wamba. "I trust—no disparagement to your birth—that the son of Witless may hang in a chain with as much gravity as the chain hung upon his ancestor the [v]alderman."

"Well, Wamba," said Cedric, "for one thing will I grant thy request. And that is, if thou wilt make the exchange of garments with Lord Athelstane instead of me."

"No," answered Wamba; "there were little reason in that. Good right there is that the son of Witless should suffer to save the son of Hereward; but little wisdom there were in his dying for the benefit of one whose fathers were strangers to his."

"Villain," cried Cedric, "the fathers of Athelstane were monarchs of England!"

"They might be whomsoever they pleased," replied Wamba; "but my neck stands too straight on my shoulders to have it twisted for their sake. Wherefore, good my master, either take my proffer yourself, or suffer me to leave this dungeon as free as I entered."

"Let the old tree wither," persisted Cedric, "so the stately hope of the forest be preserved. Save the noble Athelstane, my trusty Wamba! It is the duty of each who has Saxon blood in his veins. Thou and I will abide together the utmost rage of our oppressors, while he, free and safe, shall arouse the awakened spirits of our countrymen to avenge us."

"Not so, father Cedric," said Athelstane, grasping his hand—for, when roused to think or act, his deeds and sentiments were not unbecoming his high race—"not so. I would rather remain in this hall a week without food save the prisoner's stinted loaf, or drink save the prisoner's measure of water, than embrace the opportunity to escape which the slave's untaught kindness has [v]purveyed for his master. Go, noble Cedric. Your presence without may encourage friends to our rescue; your remaining here would ruin us all."

"And is there any prospect, then, of rescue from without?" asked Cedric, looking at the jester.

"Prospect indeed!" echoed Wamba. "Let me tell you that when you fill my cloak you are wrapped in a general's cassock. Five hundred men are there without, and I was this morning one of their chief leaders. My fool's cap was a [v]casque, and my [v]bauble a truncheon. Well, we shall see what good they will make by exchanging a fool for a wise man. Truly, I fear they will lose in valor what they may gain in discretion. And so farewell, master, and be kind to poor Gurth and his dog Fangs; and let my [v]coxcomb hang in the hall at Rotherwood in memory that I flung away my life for my master—like a faithful fool!"

The last word came out with a sort of double expression, betwixt jest and earnest. The tears stood in Cedric's eyes.

"Thy memory shall be preserved," he said, "while fidelity and affection have honor upon earth. But that I trust I shall find the means of saving Rowena and thee, Athelstane, and thee also, my poor Wamba, thou shouldst not overbear me in this matter."

The exchange of dress was now accomplished, when a sudden doubt struck Cedric.

"I know no language but my own and a few words of their mincing Norman. How shall I bear myself like a reverend brother?"

"The spell lies in two words," replied Wamba: "Pax vobiscum will answer all queries. If you go or come, eat or drink, bless or ban, Pax vobiscum carries you through it all. It is as useful to a friar as a broomstick to a witch or a wand to a conjurer. Speak it but thus, in a deep, grave tone,—Pax vobiscum!—it is irresistible. Watch and ward, knight and squire, foot and horse, it acts as a charm upon them all. I think, if they bring me out to be hanged to-morrow, as is much to be doubted they may, I will try its weight."

"If such prove the case," said his master, "my religious orders are soon taken. Pax vobiscum! I trust I shall remember the password. Noble Athelstane, farewell; and farewell, my poor boy, whose heart might make amends for a weaker head. I will save you, or return and die with you. Farewell."

"Farewell, noble Cedric," said Athelstane; "remember it is the true part of a friar to accept refreshment, if you are offered any."

Thus exhorted, Cedric sallied forth upon his expedition and presently found himself in the presence of Front-de-Boeuf. The Saxon, with some difficulty, compelled himself to make obeisance to the haughty baron, who returned his courtesy with a slight inclination of the head.

"Thy penitents, father," said the latter, "have made a long [v]shrift. It is the better for them, since it is the last they shall ever make. Hast thou prepared them for death?"

"I found them," said Cedric, in such French as he could command, "expecting the worst, from the moment they knew into whose power they had fallen."

"How now, sir friar," replied Front-de-Boeuf, "thy speech, me thinks, smacks of the rude Saxon tongue?"

"I was bred in the convent of Saint Withold of Burton," answered Cedric.

"Ay," said the baron; "it had been better for thee to have been a Norman, and better for my purpose, too; but need has no choice of messengers. That Saint Withold's of Burton is a howlet's nest worth the harrying. The day will soon come that the frock shall protect the Saxon as little as the mail-coat."

"God's will be done!" returned Cedric, in a voice tremulous with passion, which Front-de-Boeuf imputed to fear.

"I see," he said, "thou dreamest already that our men-at-arms are in thy refectory and thy ale-vaults. But do me one cast of thy holy office and thou shalt sleep as safe in thy cell as a snail within his shell of proof."

"Speak your commands," replied Cedric, with suppressed emotion.

"Follow me through this passage, then, that I may dismiss thee by the postern."

As he strode on his way before the supposed friar, Front-de-Boeuf thus schooled him in the part which he desired he should act.

"Thou seest, sir friar, yon herd of Saxon swine who have dared to environ this castle of Torquilstone. Tell them whatever thou hast a mind of the weakness of this [v]fortalice, or aught else that can detain them before it for twenty-four hours. Meantime bear this scroll—but soft—canst thou read, sir priest?"

"Not a jot I," answered Cedric, "save on my [v]breviary; and then I know the characters because I have the holy service by heart, praised be Saint Withold!"

"The fitter messenger for my purpose. Carry thou this scroll to the castle of Philip de [v]Malvoisin; say it cometh from me and is written by the Templar, Brian de Bois-Guilbert, and that I pray him to send it to York with all speed man and horse can make. Meanwhile, tell him to doubt nothing he shall find us whole and sound behind our battlement. Shame on it, that we should be compelled to hide thus by a pack of runagates who are wont to fly even at the flash of our pennons and the tramp of our horses! I say to thee, priest, contrive some cast of thine art to keep the knaves where they are until our friends bring up their lances."

With these words, Front-de-Boeuf led the way to a postern where, passing the moat on a single plank, they reached a small barbican, or exterior defense, which communicated with the open field by a well-fortified sally-port.

"Begone, then; and if thou wilt do mine errand, and return hither when it is done, thou shalt see Saxon flesh cheap as ever was hog's in the shambles of Sheffield. And, hark thee! thou seemest to be a jolly confessor—come hither after the onslaught and thou shalt have as much good wine as would drench thy whole convent."

"Assuredly we shall meet again," answered Cedric.

"Something in the hand the whilst," continued the Norman; and, as they parted at the postern door, he thrust in Cedric's reluctant hand a gold [v]byzant, adding, "Remember, I will flay off both cowl and skin if thou failest in thy purpose."

The supposed priest passed out of the door without further words.

Front-de-Boeuf turned back within the castle.

"Ho! Giles jailer," he called, "let them bring Cedric of Rotherwood before me, and the other churl, his companion—him I mean of Coningsburgh—Athelstane there, or what call they him? Their very names are an encumbrance to a Norman knight's mouth, and have, as it were, a flavor of bacon. Give me a stoop of wine, as jolly Prince John would say, that I may wash away the relish. Place it in the armory, and thither lead the prisoners."

His commands were obeyed; and upon entering that Gothic apartment, hung with many spoils won by his own valor and that of his father, he found a flagon of wine on a massive oaken table, and the two Saxon captives under the guard of four of his dependants. Front-de-Boeuf took a long draught of wine and then addressed his prisoners, for the imperfect light prevented his perceiving that the more important of them had escaped.

"Gallants of England," said Front-de-Boeuf, "how relish ye your entertainment at Torquilstone? Faith and Saint Dennis, an ye pay not a rich ransom, I will hang ye up by the feet from the iron bars of these windows till the kites and hooded crows have made skeletons of you! Speak out, ye Saxon dogs, what bid ye for your worthless lives? What say you, you of Rotherwood?"

"Not a [v]doit I," answered poor Wamba, "and for hanging up by the feet, my brain has been topsy-turvy ever since the [v]biggin was bound first around my head; so turning me upside down may peradventure restore it again."

"Hah!" cried Front-de-Boeuf, "what have we here?"

And with the back of his hand he struck Cedric's cap from the head of the jester, and throwing open his collar, discovered the fatal badge of servitude, the silver collar round his neck.

"Giles—Clement—dogs and varlets!" called the furious Norman, "what villain have you brought me here?"

"I think I can tell you," said De Bracy, who just entered the apartment. "This is Cedric's clown."

"Go," ordered Front-de-Boeuf; "fetch me the right Cedric hither, and I pardon your error for once—the rather that you but mistook a fool for a Saxon [v]franklin."

"Ay, but," said Wamba, "your chivalrous excellency will find there are more fools than franklins among us."

"What means this knave?" said Front-de-Boeuf, looking toward his followers, who, lingering and loath, faltered forth their belief that if this were not Cedric who was there in presence, they knew not what was become of him.

"Heavens!" exclaimed De Bracy. "He must have escaped in the monk's garments!"

"Fiends!" echoed Front-de-Boeuf. "It was then the boar of Rotherwood whom I ushered to the postern and dismissed with my own hands! And thou," he said to Wamba, "whose folly could over-reach the wisdom of idiots yet more gross than thyself. I will give thee holy orders, I will shave thy crown for thee! Here, let them tear the scalp from his head and pitch him headlong from the battlements. Thy trade is to jest: canst thou jest now?"

"You deal with me better than your word, noble knight," whimpered forth poor Wamba, whose habits of [v]buffoonery were not to be overcome even by the immediate prospect of death; "if you give me the red cap you propose, out of a simple monk you will make a [v]cardinal."

"The poor wretch," said De Bracy, "is resolved to die in his vocation." The next moment would have been Wamba's last but for an unexpected interruption. A hoarse shout, raised by many voices, bore to the inmates of the hall the tidings that the besiegers were advancing to the attack. There was a moment's silence in the hall, which was broken by De Bracy. "To the battlements," he said; "let us see what these knaves do without."

So saying, he opened a latticed window which led to a sort of projecting balcony, and immediately called to those in the apartment, "Saint Dennis, it is time to stir! They bring forward [v]mantelets and [v]pavisses, and the archers muster on the skirts of the wood like a dark cloud before a hail-storm."

Front-de-Boeuf also looked out upon the field and immediately snatched his bugle. After winding a long and loud blast, he commanded his men to their posts on the walls.

"De Bracy, look to the eastern side, where the walls are lowest. Noble Bois-Guilbert, thy trade hath well taught thee how to attack and defend, so look thou to the western side. I myself will take post at the barbican. Our numbers are few, but activity and courage may supply that defect, since we have only to do with rascal clowns."

The Templar had in the meantime been looking out on the proceedings of the besiegers with deeper attention than Front-de-Boeuf or his giddy companion.

"By the faith of mine order," he said, "these men approach with more touch of discipline than could have been judged, however they come by it. See ye how dexterously they avail themselves of every cover which a tree or bush affords and avoid exposing themselves to the shot of our cross-bows? I spy neither banner nor pennon, and yet I will gage my golden chain that they are led by some noble knight or gentleman skillful in the practice of wars."

"I espy him," said De Bracy; "I see the waving of a knight's crest and the gleam of his armor. See yon tall man in the black mail who is busied marshaling the farther troop of the rascally yeomen. By Saint Dennis, I hold him to be the knight who did so well in the tournament at Ashby."

The demonstrations of the enemy's approach cut off all farther discourse. The Templar and De Bracy repaired to their posts and, at the head of the few followers they were able to muster, awaited with calm determination the threatened assault, while Front-de-Boeuf went to see that all was secure in the besieged fortress.

V

In the meantime, the wounded Wilfred of Ivanhoe had been gradually recovering his strength. Taken into her litter by Rebecca when his own father hesitated to succor him, the young knight had lain in a stupor through all the experiences of the journey and the capture of Cedric's party by the Normans. De Bracy, who, bad as he was, was not without some [v]compunction, on finding the occupant of the litter to be Ivanhoe, had placed the invalid under the charge of two of his squires, who were directed to state to any inquirers that he was a wounded comrade. This explanation was now accordingly returned by these men to Front-de-Boeuf, when, in going the round of the castle, he questioned them why they did not make for the battlements upon the alarm of the attack.

"A wounded comrade!" he exclaimed in great wrath and astonishment. "No wonder that churls and yeomen wax so presumptuous as even to lay leaguer before castles, and that clowns and swineherds send defiances to nobles, since men-at-arms have turned sick men's nurses. To the battlements, ye loitering villains!" he cried, raising his [v]stentorian voice till the arches rang again; "to the battlements, or I will splinter your bones with this truncheon."

The men, who, like most of their description, were fond of enterprise and detested inaction, went joyfully to the scene of danger, and the care of Ivanhoe fell to Rebecca, who occupied a neighboring apartment and who was not kept in close confinement.

The beautiful young Jewess rejoined the knight, whom she had so signally befriended, at the moment of the beginning of the attack on the castle. Ivanhoe, already much better and chafing at his enforced inaction, resembled the war-horse who scenteth the battle afar.

"If I could but drag myself to yonder window," he said, "that I might see how this brave game is like to go—if I could strike but a single blow for our deliverance! It is in vain; I am alike nerveless and weaponless!"

"Fret not thyself, noble knight," answered Rebecca, "the sounds have ceased of a sudden. It may be they join not battle."

"Thou knowest naught of it," returned Wilfred, impatiently; "this dead pause only shows that the men are at their posts on the walls and expect an instant attack. What we have heard was but the distant muttering of the storm, which will burst anon in all its fury. Could I but reach yonder window!"

"Thou wilt injure thyself by the attempt, noble knight," replied the attendant. Then she added, "I myself will stand at the lattice and describe to you as I can what passes without."

"You must not; you shall not!" exclaimed Ivanhoe. "Each lattice will soon be a mark for the archers; some random shaft may strike you. At least cover thy body with yonder ancient buckler and show as little of thyself as may be."

Availing herself of the protection of the large, ancient shield, which she placed against the lower part of the window, Rebecca, with tolerable security, could witness part of what was passing without the castle and report to Ivanhoe the preparations being made for the storming. From where she stood she had a full view of the outwork likely to be the first object of the assault. It was a fortification of no great height or strength, intended to protect the postern-gate through which Cedric had been recently dismissed by Front-de-Boeuf. The castle moat divided this species of barbican from the rest of the fortress, so that, in case of its being taken, it was easy to cut off the communication with the main building by withdrawing the temporary bridge. In the outwork was a sally-port corresponding to the postern of the castle, and the whole was surrounded by a strong palisade. From the mustering of the assailants in a direction nearly opposite the outwork, it seemed plain that this point had been selected for attack.

Rebecca communicated this to Ivanhoe, and added, "The skirts of the wood seem lined with archers, although only a few are advanced from its dark shadow."

"Under what banner?" asked Ivanhoe.

"Under no ensign of war which I can observe," answered Rebecca.

"A singular novelty," muttered the knight, "to advance to storm such a castle without pennon or banner displayed! Seest thou who they are that act as leaders? Or, are all of them but stout yeomen?"

"A knight clad in sable armor is the most conspicuous," she replied; "he alone is armed from head to foot, and he seems to assume the direction of all around him."

"Seem there no other leaders?" demanded the anxious inquirer.

"None of mark and distinction that I can behold from this station," said Rebecca. "They appear even now preparing to attack. God of Zion protect us! What a dreadful sight! Those who advance first bear huge shields and defenses made of plank; the others follow, bending their bows as they come on. They raise their bows! God of Moses, forgive the creatures thou hast made!"

Her description was suddenly interrupted by the signal for assault, which was the blast of a shrill bugle, at once answered by a flourish of the Norman trumpets from the battlements. The shouts of both parties augmented the fearful din, the assailants crying, "Saint George for merry England!" and the Normans answering them with cries of "[v]Beauseant! Beauseant!"

It was not, however, by clamor that the contest was to be decided, and the desperate efforts of the assailants were met by an equally vigorous defense on the part of the besieged. The archers, trained by their woodland pastimes to the most effective use of the longbow, shot so rapidly and accurately that no point at which a defender could show the least part of his person escaped their [v]cloth-yard shafts. By this heavy discharge, which continued as thick and sharp as hail, two or three of the garrison were slain and several others wounded. But, confident in their armor of proof and in the cover which their situation afforded, the followers of Front-de-Boeuf, and his allies, showed an obstinacy in defense proportioned to the fury of the attack, replying with the discharge of their large cross-bows to the close and continued shower of arrows. As the assailants were necessarily but indifferently protected, they received more damage than they did.

"And I must lie here like a bedridden monk," exclaimed Ivanhoe, "while the game that gives me freedom or death is played out by the hands of others! Look from the window once again, kind maiden, but beware that you are not marked by the archers beneath—look out once more and tell me if they yet advance to the storm."

With patient courage, Rebecca again took post at the lattice.

"What dost thou see?" demanded the wounded knight.

"Nothing but the cloud of arrows flying so thick as to dazzle mine eyes and hide the bowmen who shoot them."

"That cannot endure," remarked Ivanhoe. "If they press not on to carry the castle by pure force of arms, the archery may avail but little against stone walls and bulwarks. Look for the sable knight and see how he bears himself, for as the leader is, so will his followers be."

"I see him not," said Rebecca.

"Foul craven!" exclaimed Ivanhoe; "does he blench from the helm when the wind blows highest?"

"He blenches not! he blenches not!" cried Rebecca. "I see him now; he heads a body of men close under the outer barrier of the barbican. They pull down the piles and palisades; they hew down the barriers with axes. His high black plume floats over the throng, like a raven over the field of the slain. They have made a breach in the barriers—they rush in—they are thrust back! Front-de-Boeuf heads the defenders; I see his gigantic form above the press. They throng again to the breach, and the pass is disputed hand to hand, and man to man. Have mercy, God!"

She turned her head from the lattice, as if unable longer to endure a sight so terrible.

"Look forth again, Rebecca," urged Ivanhoe, mistaking the cause of her retiring; "the archery must in some degree have ceased, since they are now fighting hand to hand. Look again; there is less danger."

Rebecca again looked forth and almost immediately exclaimed: "Holy prophets of the law! Front-de-Boeuf and the Black Knight fight hand to hand in the breach, amid the roar of their followers, who watch the progress of the strife." She then uttered a loud shriek, "He is down! he is down!"

"Who is down?" cried Ivanhoe; "tell me which has fallen?"

"The Black Knight," answered Rebecca, faintly; then shouted with joyful eagerness, "But no—the name of the Lord of Hosts be blessed!—he is on foot again and fights as if there were twenty men's strength in his single arm. His sword is broken—he snatches an ax from a yeoman—he presses Front-de-Boeuf with blow on blow. The giant stoops and totters like an oak under the steel of a woodsman—he falls—he falls!"

"Front-de-Boeuf?" exclaimed Ivanhoe.

"Front-de-Boeuf!" answered the Jewess. "His men rush to the rescue, headed by the haughty Templar—their united force compels the champion to pause—they drag Front-de-Boeuf within the walls."

"The assailants have won the barriers, have they not?" Ivanhoe eagerly queried.

"They have! they have!" answered Rebecca; "and they press the besieged hard on the outer wall. Some plant ladders, some swarm like bees and endeavor to ascend upon the shoulders of each other. Down go stones, beams, and trunks of trees on their heads, and as fast as they bear the wounded to the rear, fresh men supply their places. Great God! hast thou given men thine own image, that it should be thus cruelly defaced by the hands of their brethren!"

"Think not of that," said Ivanhoe. "This is no time for such thoughts. Who yield—who push their way?"

"The ladders are thrown down," replied Rebecca, shuddering; "the soldiers lie groveling under them like crushed reptiles; the besieged have the better."

"Saint George strike for us!" exclaimed the knight; "do the false yeomen give way?"

"No," exclaimed Rebecca, "they bear themselves right yeomanly—the Black Knight approaches the postern with his huge ax—the thundering blows he deals you may hear above all the din of the battle. Stones and beams are hailed down on the bold champion—he regards them no more than if they were thistle-down or feathers!"

"By Saint John of Acre," cried Ivanhoe, raising himself joyfully on his couch, "methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed!"

"The postern-gate shakes," continued Rebecca; "it crashes—it is splintered by his blows—they rush in—the outwork is won! Oh, God! they hurl the defenders from the battlements—they throw them into the moat—men, if ye indeed be men, spare them that can resist no longer!"

"The bridge—the bridge which communicates with the castle—have they won that pass?"

"No," replied Rebecca. "The Templar has destroyed the plank on which they crossed—few of the defenders escaped with him into the castle—the shrieks and cries you hear tell the fate of the others! Alas! I see it is more difficult to look on victory than on battle."

"What do they now, maiden?" asked Ivanhoe. "Look forth yet again; this is no time to faint at bloodshed."

"It is over for the time," answered Rebecca. "Our friends strengthen themselves within the outwork which they have mastered; it affords them so good a shelter from the foeman's shot that the garrison only bestow a few bolts on it from interval to interval, as if to disquiet rather than to injure them."

"Our friends," said Wilfred, "will surely not abandon an enterprise so gloriously begun and so happily attained. Oh, no! I will put my faith in the good knight whose ax hath rent heart-of-oak and bars of iron."

VI

During the interval of quiet which followed the first success of the besiegers, the Black Knight was employed in causing to be constructed a sort of floating bridge, or long raft, by means of which he hoped to cross the moat in despite of the resistance of the enemy. This was a work of some time.

When the raft was completed, the Black Knight addressed the besiegers: "It avails not waiting here longer, my friends; the sun is descending in the west, and I may not tarry for another day. Besides, it will be a marvel if the horsemen do not come upon us from York, unless we speedily accomplish our purpose. Wherefore, one of you go to Locksley and bid him commence a discharge of arrows on the opposite side of the castle, and move forward as if about to assault it; while you, true Englishmen, stand by me and be ready to thrust the raft end-long over the moat whenever the postern on our side is thrown open. Follow me boldly across, and aid me to burst yon sally-port in the main wall of the castle. As many of you as like not this service, or are but ill-armed, do you man the top of the outwork, draw your bowstrings to your ears and quell with your shot whoever shall appear upon the rampant. Noble Cedric, wilt thou take the direction of those that remain?"

"Not so," answered the Saxon. "Lead I cannot, but my posterity curse me in my grave if I follow not with the foremost wherever thou shalt point the way!"

"Yet, bethink thee, noble Saxon," said the knight, "thou hast neither hauberk nor corslet, nor aught but that light helmet, [v]target, and sword."

"The better," replied Cedric; "I shall be the lighter to climb these walls. And—forgive the boast, sir knight—thou shalt this day see the naked breast of a Saxon as boldly presented to the battle as ever you beheld the steel corslet of a Norman warrior."

"In the name of God, then," said the knight, "fling open the door and launch the floating bridge!"

The portal which led from the inner wall of the barbican, now held by the besiegers, to the moat and corresponded with a sally-port in the main wall of the castle was suddenly opened. The temporary bridge was immediately thrust forward and extended its length between the castle and outwork, forming a slippery and precarious passage for two men abreast to cross the moat. Well aware of the importance of taking the foe by surprise, the Black Knight, closely followed by Cedric, threw himself upon the bridge and reached the opposite shore. Here he began to thunder with his ax on the gate of the castle, protected in part from the shot and stones cast by the defenders by the ruins of the former drawbridge, which the Templar had demolished in his retreat from the barbican, leaving the [v]counterpoise still attached to the upper part of the portal. The followers of the knight had no such shelter; two were instantly shot with cross-bow bolts, and two more fell into the moat. The others retreated back into the barbican.



He Began to Thunder on the Gate]

The situation of Cedric and the Black Knight was now truly dangerous and would have been still more so but for the constancy of the archers in the barbican, who ceased not to shower their arrows on the battlements, distracting the attention of those by whom they were manned and thus affording a respite to their two chiefs from the storm of missiles, which must otherwise have overwhelmed them. But their situation was eminently perilous, and was becoming more so with every moment.

"Shame on ye all!" cried De Bracy to the soldiers around him; "do ye call yourselves cross-bowmen and let these two dogs keep their station under the walls of the castle? Heave over the coping stones from the battlement, an better may not be. Get pick-ax and levers and down with that huge pinnacle!" pointing to a heavy piece of stone-carved work that projected from the parapet.

At this moment Locksley whipped up the courage of his men.

"Saint George for England!" he cried. "To the charge, bold yeomen! Why leave ye the good knight and noble Cedric to storm the pass alone? Make in, yeomen! The castle is taken. Think of honor; think of spoil. One effort and the place is ours."

With that he bent his good bow and sent a shaft right through the breast of one of the men-at-arms, who, under De Bracy's direction, was loosening a fragment from one of the battlements to precipitate on the heads of Cedric and the Black Knight. A second soldier caught from the hands of the dying man the iron crow, with which he had heaved up and loosened the stone pinnacle, when, receiving an arrow through his headpiece, he dropped from the battlement into the moat a dead man. The men-at-arms were daunted, for no armor seemed proof against the shot of this tremendous archer.

"Do you give ground, base knaves?" cried De Bracy. "[v]Mountjoy Saint Dennis! Give me the lever."

Snatching it up, he again assailed the loosened pinnacle, which was of weight enough, if thrown down, not only to have destroyed the remnant of the drawbridge, which sheltered the two foremost assailants, but also to have sunk the rude float of planks over which they had crossed. All saw the danger, and the boldest, even the stout friar himself, avoided setting a foot on the raft. Thrice did Locksley bend his shaft against De Bracy, and thrice did his arrow bound back from the knight's armor of proof.

"Curse on thy Spanish steel-coat!" said Locksley; "had English smith forged it, these arrows had gone through it as if it had been silk." He then began to call out: "Comrades! friends! noble Cedric! bear back and let the ruin fall."

His warning voice was unheard, for the din which the Black Knight himself occasioned by his strokes upon the postern would have drowned twenty war-trumpets. The faithful Gurth indeed sprang forward on the planked bridge to warn Cedric of his impending fate, or to share it with him. But his warning would have come too late; the massive pinnacle already tottered, and De Bracy, who still heaved at his task, would have accomplished it, had not the voice of the Templar sounded close in his ear.

"All is lost, De Bracy; the castle burns."

"Thou art mad to say so," replied the knight.

"It is all in a light flame on the western side," returned Bois-Guilbert. "I have striven in vain to extinguish it."

"What is to be done?" cried De Bracy. "I vow to Saint Nicholas of Limoges a candlestick of pure gold—"

"Spare thy vow," said the Templar, "and mark me. Lead thy men down, as if to a sally; throw the postern-gate open. There are but two men who occupy the float; fling them into the moat and push across to the barbican. I will charge from the main gate and attack the barbican on the outside. If we can regain that post, we shall defend ourselves until we are relieved or, at least, until they grant us fair quarter."

"It is well thought upon," replied De Bracy; "I will play my part."

De Bracy hastily drew his men together and rushed down to the postern-gate, which he caused instantly to be thrown open. Scarce was this done ere the portentous strength of the Black Knight forced his way inward in despite of De Bracy and his followers. Two of the foremost instantly fell, and the rest gave way, notwithstanding all their leader's efforts to stop them.

"Dogs!" cried De Bracy; "will ye let two men win our only pass for safety?"

"He is the devil!" replied a veteran man-at-arms, bearing back from the blows of their sable antagonist.

"And if he be the devil," said De Bracy, "would you fly from him into the mouth of hell? The castle burns behind us, villains! Let despair give you courage, or let me forward. I will cope with this champion myself."

And well and chivalrously did De Bracy that day maintain the fame he had acquired in the civil wars of that dreadful period. The vaulted passages in which the two redoubted champions were now fighting hand to hand rang with the furious blows they dealt each other, De Bracy with his sword, the Black Knight with his ponderous ax. At length the Norman received a blow, which, though its force was partly parried by his shield, descended yet with such violence on his crest that he measured his length on the paved floor.

"Yield thee, De Bracy," said the Black Knight, stooping over him and holding against the bars of his helmet the fatal poniard with which knights despatched their enemies; "yield thee, Maurice de Bracy, rescue or no rescue, or thou art but a dead man. Speak!"

The gallant Norman, seeing the hopelessness of further resistance, yielded, and was allowed to rise.

"Let me tell thee what it imports thee to know," he said. "Wilfred of Ivanhoe is wounded and a prisoner, and will perish in the burning castle without present help."

"Wilfred of Ivanhoe!" exclaimed the Black Knight. "The life of every man in the castle shall answer if a hair of his head be singed. Show me his chamber!"

"Ascend yonder stair," directed De Bracy. "It leads to his apartment."

The turret was now in bright flames, which flashed out furiously from window and shot-hole. But, in other parts, the great thickness of the walls and the vaulted roofs of the apartments resisted the progress of the fire, and there the rage of man still triumphed; for the besiegers pursued the defenders of the castle from chamber to chamber. Most of the garrison resisted to the uttermost; few of them asked quarter—none received it. The air was filled with groans and the clashing of arms.

Through this scene of confusion the Black Knight rushed in quest of Ivanhoe, whom he found in Rebecca's charge. The knight, picking up the wounded man as if he were a child, bore him quickly to safety. In the meantime, Cedric had gone in search of Rowena, followed by the faithful Gurth. The noble Saxon was so fortunate as to reach his ward's apartment just as she had abandoned all hope of safety and sat in expectation of instant death. He committed her to the charge of Gurth, to be carried without the castle. The loyal Cedric then hastened in quest of his friend Athelstane, determined at every risk to himself to save the prince. But ere Cedric penetrated as far as the old hall in which he himself had been a prisoner, the inventive genius of Wamba had procured liberation for himself and his companion.

When the noise of the conflict announced that it was at the hottest, the jester began to shout with the utmost power of his lungs, "Saint George and the Dragon! Bonny Saint George for merry England! The castle is won!" These sounds he rendered yet more fearful by banging against each other two or three pieces of rusty armor which lay scattered around the hall.

The guards at once ran to tell the Templar that foemen had entered the old hall. Meantime the prisoners found no difficulty in making their escape into the court of the castle, which was now the last scene of the contest. Here sat the fierce Templar, mounted on horseback and surrounded by several of the garrison, who had united their strength in order to secure the last chance of safety and retreat which remained to them. The principal, and now the single remaining drawbridge, had been lowered by his orders, but the passage was beset; for the archers, who had hitherto only annoyed the castle on that side by their missiles, no sooner saw the flames breaking out and the bridge lowered than they thronged to the entrance. On the other hand, a party of the besiegers who had entered by the postern on the opposite side were now issuing into the court-yard and attacking with fury the remnant of the defenders in the rear.

Animated, however, by despair and the example of their gallant leader, the remaining soldiers of the castle fought with the utmost valor; and, being well armed, they succeeded in driving back the assailants.

Crying aloud, "Those who would save themselves, follow me!" Bois-Guilbert pushed across the drawbridge, dispersing the archers who would have stopped them. He was followed by the Saracen slaves and some five or six men-at-arms, who had mounted their horses. The Templar's retreat was rendered perilous by the number of arrows shot at him and his party; but this did not prevent him from galloping round to the barbican, where he expected to find De Bracy.

"De Bracy!" he shouted, "art thou there?"

"I am here," answered De Bracy, "but a prisoner."

"Can I rescue thee?" cried Bois-Guilbert.

"No," said the other. "I have rendered myself."

Upon hearing this, the Templar galloped off with his followers, leaving the besiegers in complete possession of the castle.

Fortunately, by this time all the prisoners had been rescued and stood together without the castle, while the yeomen ran through the apartments seeking to save from the devouring flames such valuables as might be found. They were soon driven out by the fiery element. The towering flames surmounted every obstruction and rose to the evening skies one huge and burning beacon, seen far and wide through the adjacent country. Tower after tower crashed down, with blazing roof and rafter.

The victors, assembling in large bands, gazed with wonder not unmixed with fear upon the flames, in which their own ranks and arms glanced dusky red. The voice of Locksley was at length heard, "Shout, yeomen! the den of tyrants is no more! Let each bring his spoil to the tree in Hart-hill Walk, for there we will make just partition among ourselves, together with our worthy allies in this great deed of vengeance."

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

HELPS TO STUDY

I. Tell what you find out about Cedric and his son, Ivanhoe, or the "Disinherited Knight." What impression do you get of Cedric's character? of Athelstane's? What was the first adventure the travelers had? Who was "the sick friend" the Jews were assisting? What further adventure befell the travelers? How did Gurth show his true character? Who came to the aid of Gurth and Wamba? What did Wamba mean by "whether they be thy children's coats or no"? What impression do you get of the stranger? Describe the scene in the hermit's abode. What impression do you get of him? Of the Black Knight?

II. Who had made Cedric's party prisoners? Why? Tell what Cedric said when he discovered who his captors were. What disposition was made of the prisoners? Describe the scene in Isaac's cell. How was Front-de-Boeuf interrupted?

III. What challenge did the knights receive? How did they answer it?

IV. Who came in the character of a priest? What plan did he carry out? How? How did Cedric act his part? Describe the scene when the escape was discovered. How was Front-de-Boeuf prevented from doing Wamba harm?

V. How did Ivanhoe fall to the care of Rebecca? Where did Rebecca take her station? Describe the scenes she saw. What knight led the assault? How did Rebecca describe him? Can you guess who the Black Knight was? Whom did Ivanhoe think of when he said, "Methought there was but one man in England that might do such a deed"?

VI. What plan did the Black Knight make? How was it executed? Which of the assailants proved themselves especial heroes? What was De Bracy's plan? How was its accomplishment prevented? What plan for escape did the Templar have? How did it end? Tell how Ivanhoe, Rowena, Athelstane and Wamba were liberated. Tell what became of the knights. Who do you think Locksley was?

All of the party were rescued except Rebecca, who was carried off by Bois-Guilbert and accused of witchcraft. You will have to read the novel, Ivanhoe, to learn of the further adventures of her, Rowena, the Black Knight, and Ivanhoe.

SUPPLEMENTARY READING

The Talisman—Sir Walter Scott. The White Company—A. Conan Doyle. When Knighthood Was in Flower—Charles Major. The Last of the Barons—Edward Bulwer-Lytton. Don Quixote—Miguel de Cervantes. The Idylls of the King—Alfred Tennyson. Scottish Chiefs—Jane Porter.



SEA FEVER

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking, And a gray mist on the sea's face, and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown [v]spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over.

JOHN MASEFIELD.



A GREYPORT LEGEND

They ran through the streets of the seaport town; They peered from the decks of the ships that lay: The cold sea-fog that comes whitening down Was never as cold or white as they. "Ho, Starbuck, and Pinckney, and Tenterden, Run for your shallops, gather your men, Scatter your boats on the lower bay!"

Good cause for fear! In the thick midday The hulk that lay by the rotting pier, Filled with the children in happy play, Parted its moorings and drifted clear; Drifted clear beyond reach or call,— Thirteen children they were in all,— All adrift in the lower bay!

Said a hard-faced skipper, "God help us all! She will not float till the turning tide!" Said his wife, "My darling will hear my call, Whether in sea or heaven she abide!" And she lifted a quavering voice and high, Wild and strange as a sea-bird's cry, Till they shuddered and wondered at her side.

The fog drove down on each laboring crew, Veiled each from each and the sky and shore; There was not a sound but the breath they drew, And the lap of water and creak of oar. And they felt the breath of the downs fresh blown O'er leagues of clover and cold gray stone, But not from the lips that had gone before.

They came no more. But they tell the tale That, when fogs are thick on the harbor reef, The mackerel-fishers shorten sail; For the signal they know will bring relief, For the voices of children, still at play In a phantom-hulk that drifts alway Through channels whose waters never fail.

It is but a foolish shipman's tale, A theme for a poet's idle page; But still, when the mists of doubt prevail, And we lie becalmed by the shores of age, We hear from the misty troubled shore The voice of the children gone before, Drawing the soul to its anchorage!

BRET HARTE.

HELPS TO STUDY

Read the poem and tell the story found in it. Why was every one so "cold and white"? What was the great danger? What happened to prevent the sailors' getting to the hulk? What is the tale that is told? What is the thought the poet leaves with us in the last stanza?



A HUNT BENEATH THE OCEAN

This story is taken from Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, the book that foreshadowed the modern submarine. Monsieur Aronnax, a scientist, with two companions, Ned Land and Conseil, was rescued at sea by a strange craft, the Nautilus, owned and commanded by one Captain Nemo, who hated mankind and never went ashore on inhabited land. Monsieur Aronnax remained on the submarine for months in a kind of captivity and met with many wonderful adventures. It should be noted that modern inventions have already outstripped many of the author's imaginings.

On returning to my room with Ned and Conseil, I found upon my table a note addressed to me. I opened it impatiently. It was written in a bold clear hand, and ran as follows:

"November 16, 1867.

To Professor Aronnax, on board the Nautilus:

Captain Nemo invites Professor Aronnax to a hunting party, which will take place to-morrow morning in the forest of the island of Crespo. He hopes that nothing will prevent the professor from being present, and he will with pleasure see him joined by his companions."

"A hunt!" exclaimed Ned.

"And in the forests of the island of Crespo!" added Conseil.

"Oh, then the gentleman is going on [v]terra firma?" asked Ned Land.

"That seems to be clearly indicated," said I, reading the letter once more.

"Well, we must accept," said Ned. "Once more on dry land, we shall know what to do. Indeed, I shall not be sorry to eat a piece of fresh venison."

I contented myself with replying, "Let us see where the island of Crespo is."

I consulted the [v]planisphere and in 32 deg. 40' north latitude, and 157 deg. 50' west [v]longitude, I found a small island recognized in 1801 by Captain Crespo, and marked in the ancient Spanish maps as Rocca de la Platta, or Silver Rock.

I showed this little rock lost in the midst of the North Pacific to my companions.

"If Captain Nemo does sometimes go on dry ground," said I, "he at least chooses desert islands."

Ned Land shrugged his shoulders without speaking, and Conseil and he left me. After supper, which was served by the steward, mute and impassive, I went to bed, not without some anxiety.

The next morning, the 7th of November, I felt on awakening that the Nautilus was perfectly still. I dressed quickly and entered the saloon. Captain Nemo was there, waiting for me. He rose, bowed, and asked me if it was convenient for me to accompany him. I simply replied that my companions and myself were ready to follow him.

We entered the room where breakfast was served.

"M. Aronnax," said the captain, "pray share my breakfast without ceremony; we will chat as we eat. Though I promised you a walk in the forest, I did not undertake to find hotels there; so breakfast as a man should who will most likely not have his dinner till very late."

I did honor to the repast. It was composed of several kinds of fish, and different sorts of seaweed. Our drink consisted of pure water, to which the captain added some drops of a fermented liquor extracted from a seaweed. Captain Nemo ate at first without saying a word. Then he began:

"Professor, when I proposed to you to hunt in my submarine forest of Crespo, you evidently thought me mad. Sir, you should never judge lightly of any man."

"But, captain, believe me—"

"Be kind enough to listen, and you will then see whether you have any cause to accuse me of folly and contradiction."

"I listen."

"You know as well as I do, professor, that man can live under water, providing he carries with him a sufficient supply of breathable air. In submarine works, the workman, clad in an [v]impervious dress, with his head in a metal helmet, receives air from above by means of forcing-pumps and [v]regulators."

"That is a diving apparatus," said I.

"Just so. But under these conditions the man is not at liberty; he is attached to the pump which sends him air through a rubber tube, and if we were obliged to be thus held to the Nautilus, we could not go far."

"And the means of getting free?" I asked.

"It is to use the Rouquayrol apparatus, invented by two of your own countrymen, which I have brought to perfection for my own use and which will allow you to risk yourself without any organ of the body suffering. It consists of a reservoir of thick iron plates, in which I store the air under a pressure of fifty [v]atmospheres. This reservoir is fixed on the back by means of braces, like a soldier's knapsack. Its upper part forms a box in which the air is kept by means of a bellows, and therefore cannot escape unless at its [v]normal tension. In the Rouquayrol apparatus such as we use, two rubber pipes leave this box and join a sort of tent which holds the nose and mouth; one is to introduce fresh air, the other to let out foul, and the tongues close one or the other pipe according to the wants of the [v]respirator. But I, in encountering great pressures at the bottom of the sea, was obliged to shut my head like that of a diver in a ball of copper; and it is into this ball of copper that the two pipes, the inspirator and the expirator, open. Do you see?"

"Perfectly, Captain Nemo. But the air that you carry with you must soon be used; when it contains only fifteen per cent of oxygen it is no longer fit to breathe."

"Right! But I told you, M. Aronnax, that the pumps of the Nautilus allow me to store the air under considerable pressure; and the reservoir of the apparatus can furnish breathable air for nine or ten hours."

"I have no further objections to make," I answered. "I will only ask one thing, captain—how can you light your road at the bottom of the sea?"

"With the Ruhmkorff apparatus, M. Aronnax. One is carried on the back, the other is fastened to the waist. It is composed of a [v]bunsen pile, which I do not work with bichromate of potash but with sodium. A wire is introduced which collects the electricity produced, and directs it toward a lantern. In this lantern is a spiral glass which contains a small quantity of carbonic acid gas. When the apparatus is at work, this gas becomes luminous, giving out a white and continuous light. Thus provided, I can breathe and I can see."

"Captain Nemo, to all my objections you make such crushing answers that I dare no longer doubt. But if I am forced to admit the Rouquayrol and Ruhmkorff apparatus, I must be allowed some reservations with regard to the gun I am to carry."

"But it is not a gun for powder," he said.

"Then it is an air-gun?" I asked.

"Doubtless. How would you have me manufacture gunpowder on board, without saltpeter, sulphur, or charcoal?"

"Besides," I added, "to fire under water in a medium eight hundred and fifty times denser than the air, we must conquer a very considerable resistance."

"That would be no difficulty. There exist guns which can fire under these conditions. But I repeat, having no powder, I use air under great pressure, which the pumps of the Nautilus furnish abundantly."

"But this air must be rapidly used?"

"Well, have I not my Rouquayrol reservoir, which can furnish it at need? A tap is all that is required. Besides, M. Aronnax, you must see yourself that during our submarine hunt we can spend but little air."

"But it seems to me that in this twilight, and in the midst of this fluid, which is very dense compared with the atmosphere, shots could not go far or easily prove fatal."

"On the contrary," replied Nemo, "with this gun every blow is mortal; however lightly the animal is touched, it falls dead as if struck by a thunderbolt."

"Why?"

"Because the balls sent by this gun are not ordinary balls, but little cases of glass, of which I have a large supply. These glass cases are covered with a shell of steel and weighted with a pellet of lead; they are real [v]Leyden jars, into which electricity is forced to a very high tension. With the slightest shock they are discharged, and the animal, however strong it may be, falls dead."

Captain Nemo then led me aft; and in passing before Ned and Conseil's cabin, I called my two companions, who followed immediately. Conseil was delighted at the idea of exploring the sea, but Ned declined to go when he learned that the hunt was to be a submarine one. We came to a kind of cell near the machinery-room, in which we were to put on our walking-dress. It was, in fact, the arsenal and wardrobe of the Nautilus. A dozen diving-suits hung from the partition, awaiting our use.

At the captain's call two of the ship's crew came to help us dress in these heavy and impervious clothes, made of rubber without seam and constructed expressly to resist considerable pressure. One might have taken this diving apparatus for a suit of armor, both supple and resisting. It formed trousers and waistcoat; the trousers were finished off with thick boots, weighted with heavy leaden soles. The texture of the waistcoat was held together by bands of copper, which crossed the chest, protecting it from the great pressure of the water and leaving the lungs free to act. The sleeves ended in gloves, which in no way restrained the movement of the hands. There was a vast difference noticeable between this dress and the old-fashioned diving-suit.

Captain Nemo and one of his companions, Conseil and myself, were soon enveloped in the dresses; there remained nothing more to be done but inclose our heads in the metal boxes. Captain Nemo thrust his head into the helmet, Conseil and I did the same. The upper part of our dress terminated in a copper collar, upon which was screwed the metal helmet. Three holes, protected by thick glass, allowed us to see in all directions by simply turning our heads in the interior of the head-dress. As soon as it was in position, the Rouquayrol apparatus on our backs began to act; and, for my part, I could breathe with ease.

With the Ruhmkorff lamp hanging from my belt, and the gun in my hand, I was ready to set out. But to speak the truth, imprisoned in these heavy garments and glued to the deck by the leaden soles, it was impossible for me to take a step. This state of things, however, was provided for. I felt myself being pushed into a little room next the wardrobe-room. My companions followed, towed along in the same way. I heard a water-tight door, furnished with stopper-plates, close upon us, and we were wrapped in profound darkness.

After some minutes, a loud hissing was heard; I felt the cold mount from my feet to my chest. Evidently from some part of the vessel they had, by means of a tap, given entrance to the water, which was invading us and with which the room was soon filled. A second door cut in the side of the Nautilus then opened. We saw a faint light. In another instant our feet trod the bottom of the sea.

How can I retrace the impression left upon me by that walk under the waters? Words are impotent to relate such wonders. Captain Nemo walked in front, his companion followed some steps behind. Conseil and I remained near each other, as if an exchange of words had been possible through our metallic cases. I no longer felt the weight of my clothing, or of my shoes, of my reservoir of air, or my thick helmet, in the midst of which my head rattled like an almond in its shell.

The light which lit the soil thirty feet below the surface of the ocean astonished me by its power. The solar rays shone through the watery mass easily and dissipated all color, and I clearly distinguished objects at a distance of a hundred and fifty yards. Beyond that the tints darkened into fine gradations of [v]ultramarine and faded into vague obscurity. We were walking on fine, even sand, not wrinkled as on a flat shore, which retains the impression of the billows. This dazzling carpet, really a reflector, repelled the rays of the sun with wonderful intensity, which accounted for the vibration which penetrated every atom of liquid. Shall I be believed when I say that, at a depth of thirty feet, I could see as well as if I was in broad daylight?

For a quarter of an hour I trod on this sand; the hull of the Nautilus, resembling a long shoal, disappeared by degrees; but its lantern would help to guide us back when darkness should overtake us in the waters. Soon forms of objects outlined in the distance became discernible. I recognized magnificent rocks, hung with a tapestry of [v]zoophytes of the most beautiful kind.

It was then about ten o'clock in the morning, and the rays of the sun struck the surface of the waves at rather an oblique angle; at the touch of the light, decomposed by [v]refraction as through a prism, flowers, rocks, plants, and shells were shaded at the edges by the seven solar colors. It was a marvelous feast for the eyes, this complication of colored tints, a perfect [v]kaleidoscope of green, yellow, orange, violet, indigo, and blue!

All these wonders I saw in the space of a quarter of a mile, scarcely stopping and following Captain Nemo, who beckoned me on by signs. Soon the nature of the soil changed; to the sandy plain succeeded an extent of slimy mud; we then traveled over a plain of seaweed of wild and luxuriant vegetation. This sward was of close texture and soft to the feet, rivaling the softest carpet woven by the hand of man. While verdure was spread at our feet, it did not abandon our heads. A light network of marine plants grew on the surface of the water.

We had been gone from the Nautilus an hour and a half. It was near noon; I knew this by the [v]perpendicularity of the sun's rays, which were no longer refracted. The magical colors disappeared by degrees and the shades of emerald and sapphire were effaced. We walked with a regular step, which rang upon the ground with astonishing intensity; indeed the slightest noise was transmitted with a quickness and vividness to which the ear is unaccustomed on earth, water being a better conductor of sound than air in the [v]ratio of four to one. At this period the earth sloped downward; the light took a uniform tint. We were at a depth of a hundred and five yards.

At this depth I could still see the rays of the sun, though feebly; to their intense brilliancy had succeeded a reddish twilight, but we could find our way well enough. It was not necessary to resort to the Ruhmkorff apparatus as yet. At this moment Captain Nemo stopped and waited till I joined him, pointing then to an obscure mass which loomed in the shadow at a short distance.

"It is the forest of the island of Crespo," thought I, and I was not mistaken.

This under-sea forest was composed of large tree-plants; and the moment we penetrated under its vast [v]arcades I was struck by the singular position of their branches: not an herb which carpeted the ground, not a branch which clothed the trees was either broken or bent, nor did they extend in a [v]horizontal direction; all stretched up toward the surface of the sea. Not a filament, not a ribbon, however thin, but kept as straight as a rod of iron. They were motionless, yet when bent to one side by the hand they directly resumed their former position. Truly it was a region of perpendicularity.

I soon accustomed myself to this fantastic position, as well as to the comparative darkness which surrounded us. The sights were very wonderful. Under numerous shrubs as large as trees on land were massed bushes of living flowers—animals rather than plants—of various colors and glowing softly in the obscurity of the ocean depth. Fish flies flew from branch to branch like a swarm of humming-birds, while swarms of marine creatures rose at our feet like a flight of snipes.

In about an hour Captain Nemo gave the signal to halt. I, for my part, was not sorry, and we stretched ourselves under an arbor of plants, the long thin blades of which stood up like arrows. I felt an irresistible desire to sleep, an experience which happens to all divers. My eyes soon closed behind the thick glasses and I fell into a heavy slumber. Captain Nemo and his companion, stretched in the clear crystal, set me the example.

How long I remained buried in this drowsiness I cannot judge; but when I woke, the sun seemed sinking toward the horizon. Captain Nemo had already risen, and I was beginning to stretch my limbs when an unexpected sight brought me briskly to my feet.

A few steps off, a monster sea-spider, about forty inches high, was watching me with squinting eyes, ready to spring on me. Though my diver's dress was thick enough to defend me from the bite of this animal, I could not help shuddering with horror. Conseil and the sailor of the Nautilus awoke at this moment. Captain Nemo pointed out the hideous creature, which a blow from the butt end of a gun knocked over; I saw the claws of the monster writhe in horrible convulsions. This incident reminded me that other animals more to be feared might haunt these obscure depths, against whose attacks my diving-clothes would not protect me.

Indeed, I thought that this halt would mark the end of our walk; but I was mistaken, for instead of returning to the Nautilus, we continued our bold excursion. The ground was still on the incline; its declivity seemed to be getting greater and to be leading us to lower depths. It must have been about three o'clock when we reached a narrow valley between high walls; thanks to the perfection of our apparatus, we were far below the depth to which divers ever penetrate.

At our great depth the darkness thickened; ten paces away not an object was visible. I was groping my way when I suddenly saw a brilliant white light flash out ahead; Captain Nemo had turned on his electric torch. The rest of us soon followed his example, and the sea, lit by our four lanterns, was illuminated for a circle of forty yards.

Captain Nemo still plunged onward into the dark reaches of the forest, whose trees were getting scarcer at every step. At last, after about four hours, this marvelous excursion came to an end. A wall of superb rocks rose before us, a heap of gigantic blocks, an enormous granite shore. It was the prop of the island of Crespo. It was the earth!

The return now began. Captain Nemo resumed his place at the head of his little band and directed the course without hesitation. I thought we were not following the road we had come, on our return to the Nautilus. The new way was very steep and consequently very painful; we approached the surface of the sea rapidly, but this ascent was not so sudden as to cause a too rapid relief from the pressure of the water, which would have been dangerous. Very soon light reappeared and grew, and as the sun was low on the horizon, the refraction edged all objects with a [v]spectral ring. At ten yards deep, we walked amid a shoal of little fishes, more numerous than the birds of the air; but no [v]aquatic game worthy of a shot had as yet met our gaze. Suddenly I saw the captain put his gun to his shoulder and follow a moving object into the shrubs. He fired; I heard a slight hissing and the creature fell stunned at some distance from us.

It was a magnificent sea-otter, five feet long and very valuable. Its skin, chestnut-brown above and silvery underneath, would have made one of those beautiful furs so sought after in the Russian and Chinese markets. I admired the curious animal, with its rounded head ornamented with short ears, its round eyes, and white whiskers like those of a cat, and its webbed feet and nails and tufted tail. This precious beast, hunted and tracked by fishermen, has now become very rare and has sought refuge in the northern parts of the Pacific.

Captain Nemo's companion threw the sea-otter over his shoulder, and we continued our journey. For an hour a plain of sand lay stretched before us, which sometimes rose to within two yards of the surface of the water. I then saw our image clearly reflected, drawn inversely, and above us appeared an identical group reflecting our movements: in a word, the image was like us in every point, except that the figures walked with their heads downward and their feet in the air.

For two hours we followed these sandy plains, then fields of [v]algae very disagreeable to cross. Candidly, I felt that I could do no more when I saw a glimmer of light, which for a half-mile broke the darkness of the waters. It was the lantern of the Nautilus. Before twenty minutes were over we should be on board, and I should be able to breathe with ease, for it seemed that my reservoir supplied air very deficient in oxygen. But I did not reckon on an accidental meeting which delayed our arrival for some time.

I had remained some steps behind, when presently I saw Captain Nemo come hurriedly toward me. With his strong hand he bent me to the ground, while his companion did the same to Conseil. At first I knew not what to think of this sudden attack, but I was soon reassured by seeing the captain lie down beside me and remain immovable.

I was stretched on the ground, just under shelter of a bush of algae, when, raising my head, I saw some enormous mass, casting phosphorescent gleams, pass blusteringly by. My blood froze in my veins as I recognized two formidable sharks. They were man-eaters, terrible creatures with enormous tails and a dull glassy stare—monstrous brutes which could crush a whole man in their iron jaws! I noticed their silver undersides and their huge mouths bristling with teeth, from a very unscientific point of view and more as a possible victim than as a naturalist.

Happily the [v]voracious creatures do not see well. They passed without noticing us, brushing us with their brownish fins, and we escaped by a miracle from a danger certainly greater than that of meeting a tiger full-face in a forest. Half an hour later, guided by the electric light, we reached the Nautilus. The outside door had been left open, and Captain Nemo closed it as soon as we entered the first cell. He then pressed a knob. I heard the pumps working in the midst of the vessel. I felt the water sinking from around me, and in a few minutes the cell was entirely empty. The inside door then opened, and we entered the vestry.

Our diving-dress was taken off, not without some trouble; and fairly worn out from want of food and sleep, I returned to my room in great wonder at this surprising excursion at the bottom of the sea.

JULES VERNE.

HELPS TO STUDY

What was the hunt to which the adventurers were invited? Describe the preparations for it. What kind of gun did the hunters carry? Describe the descent to the bottom of the sea and the walk. What impressed you most? Would you care to take a nap at the bottom of the sea? What were the main incidents in the return trip? Find out all you can about divers and about life on the floor of the ocean.

SUPPLEMENTARY READING

The Mysterious Island—Jules Verne. Thirty Strange Stories—H. G. Wells. The Great Stone of Sardis—Frank R. Stockton.



Roll on, thou deep and dark blue ocean—roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin—his control Stops with the shore; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man's ravage.

LORD BYRON.



UNDER SEAS

This story is a realistic description of a submarine cruise in the recent war. The Kate was a Russian underwater boat operating against the German fleet in the Baltic Sea. Her experiences in this terrible mode of fighting were the same as those of hundreds of submarines belonging to the various warring powers. It may be observed from the description how marvelous has been the advance of science in the last generation. What Jules Verne imagined in his book, Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, the Kate accomplished. This story of actual war is not less wonderful than the vision of the romancer.

Men were placed at the water-pumps, the oxygen containers, air-purifiers and [v]distilling machinery, and the [v]hatchways were thoroughly examined; the gunners took their posts at the torpedo tubes. The order had been given to move about as little as possible, to keep in the berths when not on duty, and not to talk and laugh. Then the watchman left the [v]conning tower, and the main hatchway was [v]hermetically closed.

Captain Andrey gave the order to submerge and went over to the navigating compartment. Water rushed into the [v]ballast tanks, the boat grew heavy, and its rolling and pitching ceased: the Kate sank and ran ahead under water, steering by means of the [v]periscope. Andrey pushed a button and a cone of pale blue rays poured from the tube. The [v]screen of the periscope grew alive with tiny waves, passing clouds, and a tail of smoke on the skyline. With his chin resting on his arm, Andrey scanned the image of the sea which lay before him. Presently the smoke vanished, and on the right hand appeared the hazy outline of land.

At nightfall, the boat, taking advantage of the darkness, rose to the surface of the sea and sailed without lights. Andrey stood on the bridge throughout the night. The water was placid, the stars were screened by a light mist, and far away to the south the pale blue gleam of an enemy searchlight moved through the clouds.